My Shaggy Dog Story

The most loveable Doggy Character I’ve known

The time: somewhere around the spring of 1943. Place: England in a little village called Wick in the plum growing area near the Cotswolds. Life at that time was happy enough, in spite of the war. We were in the W.R.A.F. and the ridged discipline of the early camps had been left behind. We were on a small Radar station, with only about a hundred personal.

Looking back now, we seemed rather an extraordinarily easy going lot when off duty. A few of us were allowed to keep animals, five in all, including a horse called Guy, owned by the mistress of a small red spaniel. The rest of the doggy family, included William, a large aristocratic looking Poodle, a beautiful Alsatian, a black and white border collie, and last but not least, my large shaggy mongrel, part old
English sheepdog and a toss up between water spaniel and border collie. He never disclosed his parentage.

He arrived one morning looking bedraggled and decidedly flea ridden. His master informed me that the local chemist had told him that I was fond of dogs and might like to have him. “But I shall have to ask permission first” I stammered. “If you don’t ‘av ‘im now, then you don’t ‘av ‘im at all, for I was on the way to ‘av ’im put down” said the man , who then informed me that he was joining up and as his wife had too much to do, he felt that she could not cope with him. I hesitated, two large brown eyes looked at me through a thatch of matted hair; I was captivated. “How old is he” I asked —“‘bout 18 months” came the reply. “Bring him in, I’ll ask afterwards.”

It was the beginning of a life-long friendship, but the first week was any thing but friendship to my poor old Ben. His dignity was offended as he was debugged, bathed and brushed. In between times, I would be haring across the fields on my bike to Pershore, to fetch him back from his old home. He was so disgusted with me that he ran home three times, or what he thought was home, but the door was always barred to him. I found him playing with his old street pals, for I found Benny was a street dog and a street dog he remained. I could never break him of the habit of taking his daily walks. At first, when I was told on coming off duty, that one of the girls had seen him on a big main roads, I was terrified of loosing him; you see however I tried to keep him in , there were always folk who were continually leaving the doors open. Eventually, I lost my fear of him being massacred on the roads, as he had a wonderful road sense. He would stop and appear to be listening, waiting until the road was clear, then cross.

We travelled miles together hitch-hiking or with Ben running by my side and I travelling on 'Fairy', the name I gave my bike. You know, I have often been told since, that it is cruel to let a dog run behind a bike, but I found with Benjamin, that it was 'Fairy' having a hard time catching up with him. He would go through the hedges on the country run through to Long Marston, where my sister had a cottage, and have wonderful sport chasing rabbits and birds, which always somehow eluded him. Sometimes he seemed too far away so I invented a loud high pitched call as my whistle was not enough to bring him back. He would come back panting with eyes sparkling with a look which clearly said ‘Mum, I’m having a whale of a time, why did you call me back, I know where you are.’

These off duty times were carefree in contrast to the horror of the war, which was always with us in the ops room. We became inseparable and he was a great favourite with all my friends. It was certainly ‘Love me love my dog,’ but there were times when the love of the cinema used to get too much for me and I would ask one of my friends to keep him in. Cycling across the fields to Pershore, glancing back, it would not be long before I would see at a discreet distance, a black object who had freed himself, skulking along. After taking him back a few times, I gave up and tried to make him return on his own; but no, when the film had finished, there he was waiting outside. After a while the cashier invited him into her box to keep her company, they became great friends.

Memory takes me back to the next Radar station we were moved to, on the South East coast, where my pet played an important role in the war effort. He became a co-spotter!

We were stationed at Hythe in Kent whilst our radar staff were billeted with the RAF station at Lymne a few miles away from where we actually worked.

Originally we were meant as a long distance two hundred mile unit, therefore, we had a five mile radius around us of complete blackout on our screens. Our boys at this time had driven the Luftwaffe right back to their homes, they seldom pestered our shores these days, it had become too costly for them, but the boffin boys of Germany had dreamed up another ‘toy of death’, the Doodle Bugs as we called them, known professionally as V2’s or divers. Secret service men had briefed us weeks before they came, so we knew what to expect and where to look for them, coming up from their base on our screens. However when they did arrive, all hell was let loose. Our guns, planes, balloons, the lot went into attack, consequently getting in each others way. How dear old England ever won the war one begins to wonder! It was certainly not for the organisation and co-operation between departments at Whitehall, the night sky looked like a Guy Fawkes fire work display. Eventually order came out of chaos; after what seemed to be weeks, there emerged lines of demarcations, between planes, guns etc. Literally thousands of V2's were shot down near us, along the coast and in the sea, thus saving London from so much more damage.

The local newspaper, The Kent Messenger, at the time produced a map of where all the 'doodlebugs' crashed all along the Kent coast. We knew at that time that our station had already shot down over 250 and we shot down many more after that. However, apart from the first day in which my shaggy friend ran like a scared rabbit, (with me chasing after him on 'Fairy' for about a mile) Ben gradually got used to them and as I said before, he was given the job of co- spotter.

Then there were the guns. Coincidently, one was stationed at the bottom of our garden where we were housed. As you can imagine, the noise was horrendous and never gave us any peace, so on our nights off we used to hitch to Canterbury to catch up on,our sleep as it was off their route.

Six 'doodlebugs' fell on our station and another six near to where we worked. Having followed them on the screen as far as our blind spot, we would listen, for over the tannoy would come a low growl followed by the spotter saying “I can’t see or hear them yet, but Ben has” followed soon after with “Diver’s in sight”.

One particular incident springs to mind. I happened to be tuned into a gun site on the Romney Marsh and one of the monster’s had been hit, and was evidently heading straight for us. The noise was particularly deafening, so Ben crept up as far as the ops room door, further he dared not come without disobeying orders. His eyes fixed on me and by secret signs I was trying to allay his fears. All the time penetrating my ear drums was a soldier on the end of the line saying to me ‘ it’s coming straight for you, it can’t miss , cor’ it’s coming down now.’ The old danger light was flashing, the W.A.A.F. spotter was running for cover and ‘ Woof’, it struck the cliff top, breaking the blast somewhat, just leaving us covered with bits of ceiling. Even then Ben didn’t move. Those great big eyes were fixed on me, as much as to say’ I don’t like this but she seems to think it’s alright, she’s still there’ How often I had to appear calm for his sake.

Twice when we were waiting to have our injections to go overseas the Doctors had to go and attend to those who were injured. One R.A.F. Regiment hut took a direct hit killing many. Another V2 landed in the forest. We later learned that a whole Canadian company had been wiped out. Had it been a day later none of the troops would have been there. They would have been on their way to Normandy.

I never did get to France.

So London was spared a great deal more than people realise through the combined efforts of the R.A.F., the Army and of course, those balloons which also brought down many more bombs.

Now my dear old wartime companion is not with me any more but on turning out an old drawer, I discovered this poem written by an old friend of us both. What memories it has revived, and the thought struck me that it was too good a poem to stay in the draw, and his life too precious to stay as a memory, not to share.

Ben lived with us, in civilian life, and with my sister and her family, when I couldn’t have him with me and lived to the ripe old age of thirteen.

Dedicated to Ben the most loveable Sheepdog I know. By Valerie Harford.

You tilt your shaggy raven head and blink a faithful eye;
You give a writhe of sheer delight and sigh a doggy sigh,
Then beat your tail upon the floor and look so full of pride,
To think that you can come with me and swagger by my side.

At night, although you know it’s wrong, you jump upon my bed,
And there just where my feet are lain you joy to rest your head,
But in the morning early when it’s not yet time to rise,
You’re thro’, the window, on the lawn and off with pompous cries.

It’s often that I see you now ( although you steal away ),
Trotting boldly up the hill-it happens every day,
I’ve got a sneaky feeling that you’ve found a little friend,
Which means that all your puppy days are coming to an end.

And yet, you love to romp and play — you growl with deep content,
When half my hand is in your mouth and you can give full vent
To all your vigorous feelings, it quite amuses me,
The frog- like way you lie and kick, pretending to get free.

In fact, you’re just a lazy dog who leads a life sublime,
And yet you’r quite the truest pal that I have found thro’ time
You cannot give me sympathy in tones that I can hear,
But when I’ve got you close to me there’s little left to fear.

I love you when your' shaggy and your coat is brushed to shine,
I love you when you run, with ears that rise at each decline,
But best of all I love you for the pal you’ve proved to be
Which nothing in this crazy world can ever take from me.

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Story by Beryl Fuller nee Harvey. Poem by Valery Harford

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